Nobody knows behind this face is a sad man, a deep scar, a wounded heart, an ugly past, a fractured soul.
She got a text. Four weeks ago. A simple but disturbing one. From a number she was not familiar with. She read it to herself. With her lips parting slightly. 'On Sunday marks my special birthday. Pls you're. . .'
They all thought it was the generator that tripped the lights off and on. But it was not the generator. It was her. And that was when the horror started. That was when my friend and everyone began to bombard her with Holy Ghost fire. The blood of Jesus. And all manners of prayers.